


Your Love Could Start a War

by xiiaeo



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, AtLA AU, Bending, Hot, M/M, THEY HAVE LONG HAIR, a nice railing as a treat, like it's literally boiling in the fic, more like atla inspired au please read opening note, of the elements of course, pathetic fallacy: candles edition, supposed to be pwp but it's Me so there's too much plot, what nicole wants, wonwoo has tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiiaeo/pseuds/xiiaeo
Summary: Three stories up and yet Wonwoo couldn’t deny the beautiful structure of his features, how delicately he was back-lit by the candles while the sun died somewhere off to the side.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	Your Love Could Start a War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wonwooseok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonwooseok/gifts).



> first things first HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO NICOLE!!! I LOVE YOU AND HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS, I DON'T CARE IF NO ONE ELSE DOES BECAUSE THIS IS FOR **YOU** <3333
> 
> okay So this is set after the fire nation has attacked, at the end of the war, so the air nation has been wiped out BUT that’s actually where we diverge from canon, not all of the airbenders were wiped out!! but the rest of the world thinks that they were, and they’re keeping it that way for now. creative liberties taken but this is just some fun so don't worry about it!! just enjoy the pwp with sprinklings of plot <3
> 
> in short: author hasn't seen atla but got a friend who loves atla to proofread, so BIG thank you to holly <3 and thank you, as always, to tori <3
> 
> sidenote: wonwoo has airbender tattoos like [this](https://www.tattoo.com/wp-content/uploads/files/helpfulphotos/div_div20class_0.png)
> 
> Your Love Could Start a War - The Unlikely Candidates ☆ [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/45vNhbjlX9ouXuKZAis59H?si=fnVAHcWOS1K00WjTgIMGAQ) ☆ [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrmgBrIfLcM)

Wonwoo splashed icy water on his face before raking his bangs back with a relieved sigh. The summer sun had been continuously targeting him on his trek through the area surrounding their settlement and he was growing tired of conjuring up a light breeze around himself as he walked, so he took the river as a benevolent, much needed reprieve. Even in only his usual robes, one shoulder fully exposed, the garments loose and light, Wonwoo felt like they were sticking to him, and he longed for the moon to thwart the sun, for the night to roll in with a forgiving breeze kissing against his skin, far too fatigued to regulate his own temperature internally.

A few more hours, Wonwoo guessed, squinting up at the sky to sight the sun. His hair felt hot against his neck, flowing down his back, restrictive, claustrophobic. The thought made him hastily fix his bangs back into place, covering up the blue arrow above his brows, though he could feel that the strands were wet from the splash. He would not stay out for much longer today.

Rising to his feet with a soft exhale, Wonwoo walked through the shallow river, enjoying the feeling of the gentle flow against his bare, aching feet. The grass on the other side sticking to his soles was not the nicest, but his feet had mostly dried off within a few steps, a combination of the parched land and scorching sun evaporating the icy layer as he moved. Behind him were sprawling grasslands leading down into the valley where they were settled, and ahead lay a low mountain, blanketed with a forest that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Wonwoo hadn’t been very far into the forest last time he came, but he had been further than anyone else, far enough to know that the fire nation once occupied it, and that was really as far as any of them needed to go. When he told the elder, the only one who remained alive, Wonwoo had been advised against journeying in that direction again, in the direction he was currently walking in. He knew it was for his own safety, but the safety of everyone at the settlement came before his own, and if he could remove the fear they felt for this forest, then they would have a new supply of wood, a new place for shelter, and a new place to hunt.

Travelling this far out took time, half a day at least, on average, and Wonwoo reckoned that he had been walking for around eight hours through endless fields of cracked soil, revelling in the occasional patch of green and the sudden flood of life that greeted him the further he stepped from the settlement. The river was their main water supply and it was _that_ far away, an eight hour trip for a cup of water, though, of course, they had a system in place for the young and able to take turns fetching full pails, but if they could move to this forest, then the river would be but a few minutes away! Wonwoo would have to be a selfish, sadistic man to not at least _try_ and scour out the forest for any signs of inhabitants.

Last time he had walked only so far into the forest that the light from the fields still reached him, they were still visible through the formidable oaks that towered over four times his own height, so wide in their girth that he could certainly not wrap his arms around their trunks and have his hands meet at the other side. Now, he stepped over creeping roots with feather-light movements, bare soles of his feet moulding to the shape of the terrain and planting there with every footfall. There was no need to be hasty. The whole forest could not be explored in these last rays of daylight, and Wonwoo had to find somewhere to stay for the night; there was no chance he could make it back to the settlement before the next morning now.

Caution also had to be taken with every step, time is not of the essence, but patience is. Wonwoo had been one of the first selected for these far reach expeditions for that reason, not that there was an extensive list of candidates to begin with, but still. Walking aimlessly with the singular duty of meticulously widening their perimeter was not a job for the frail, especially not in this blazing summer, and having most of their muscle at the settlement was paramount for construction.

Wonwoo froze in place when he heard a rustle to his left, a disturbance on the forest floor, heavy, too loud to have been a twig, and he held his own breath instinctually. The wind, what little of it blew through the trees, did not carry with it any warnings, and after a moment of stillness, Wonwoo walked towards the lone sound. He was deep into the tree line now, unable to see through the maze of bark back to the field he had come from, but he trusted his own sense of direction. 

Wonwoo dropped to a crouch next to an ancient oak, where a few feet ahead lay the source of the sound. A bird, a crow or perhaps a young raven, shot through the body and pierced into the soil, blood dripping from the feather fletching at the tail end of the arrow. Someone was hunting. Someone else was here in the forest, and Wonwoo found himself rooted to the spot, unable to flee back to the field or march towards the archer. Their arrow was common, made from a twig from this very forest, and the feathers were black, abysmal, clearly from another hunt. 

The last time Wonwoo was this close to an arrow it was red, it’s body stained with the blood of countless prey, and it rained down with an army while hellfire scorched their feet. This arrow is not that. This arrow is a hunter’s arrow, not an arrow used in war, not an arrow made with the intent to kill but with the intent to survive, and Wonwoo recognised the struggle. 

Hurried steps came from the right and Wonwoo was quick to hide himself behind the trunk, back pressed against it while he held his breath and focused on the way this hunter moved, how much they disturbed the air around them in their haste. They were cautious, Wonwoo realised, even in their sprint they were refined, controlled, movements restricted to be as small as they physically could be, very similar to Wonwoo’s own movements.

They could be from his nation, another survivor, but Wonwoo doubted it, they would mask their movements more if they were, be even lighter, even harder to detect, and would definitely not _run_ through a forest that had been so blatantly occupied by the fire nation in the past. It was obvious from the charred scars left in the bark, the patches of fauna, or lack thereof, that were glaringly apparent amongst the otherwise thriving forest floor. 

They came to a stop a few steps away from the tree Wonwoo pressed himself against, on the other side, gently getting their breath back after finding their kill to be successful, chase over, panic averted; they had secured food. Wonwoo heard the sick sound of the arrow sliding out of the corpse and the gentle click of it being slotted into a quiver of some kind, back with the others. 

Should he reveal himself? Ask about the area? About the hunter? Tailing them would be much better, much more preferred, if not a little treacherous as the threat of being impaled with an arrow loomed ahead, but he didn’t have to dwell on the matter for too much longer. The hunter hadn’t made a move since retracting his arrow and Wonwoo swallowed, the sheen of sweat sticking to his skin seeming to grow thicker in the silence, seeking to leak off him and water the tree’s roots, spoiling them with salt.

It felt suddenly hotter, Wonwoo felt suddenly watched, and he lunged out from behind the tree to face the hunter, only to find no one there, nothing to show that there was ever anyone there other than the fresh blood on the forest floor. Wonwoo furrowed his brows, glancing around in alarm for a mere second before shifting to a sharp focus, ears twitching for any messages in the wind. A heavy exhale drew him along, deeper into the wood, further up the incline of the low mountain, further from the chance of retreat. 

Either they were aware of his presence and attempting to evade him, leading him somewhere to have him meet the same end as that black bird, or were truly oblivious to his prying eyes, the hunter remained on the move with a clear destination. Wonwoo tailed them slowly, taking to the treetops to pounce from branch to branch, barely disturbing the leaves, and the gap between them only grew wider as Wonwoo’s fatigue grew deeper. His thighs burned from his day’s trek and his stomach gave a meek growl, halting him in frightened place as he listened to the sounds of the wood, of which there were none, save for this hunter’s occasional breath too loud, the sole pointer on Wonwoo’s compass.

The sun seemed to be suddenly growing shy, Wonwoo’s devilish companion diving below the horizon to leave him stranded in darkness. Maybe more time had passed than he thought on his journey to the forest, or maybe this hunter had been leading him through the bracken in such a convoluted route that he lost his own perception of time. Regardless, blazing tones of orange were ripping across the sky from what little of it Wonwoo could see in the gaps between the leaves above, but he didn’t rely on the light to guide him.

With the abrasive sun gone, Wonwoo could stop wasting energy on being disgruntled at how _hot_ he was, how desperately he wished he had stayed at the river for a moment longer to lie himself in it. He hadn’t done that because he knew he would likely not want to get back out of the icy embrace, but a second wouldn't have hurt anyone, in actuality, it would have delayed his timid steps into the forest, and maybe his path would not have crossed with the hunter’s.

Who knows.

Released from convection, the wind whistled through the trees to bring in the night, and Wonwoo almost allowed himself to sigh in relief before remembering that he was following the hunter, taking to the ground to dash between thick trunks, feet barely touching the grass, though they did skim against the occasional mushroom. 

Drystone walls made a sudden appearance in a small clearing, the first one that Wonwoo had come across in his chase, the only break in the endless army of trees thus far, and he was careful in surveying the building from the shadows. A lonesome tower on the side of a mountain, higher than the trees, but not by much, and without any large living quarters attached. Wonwoo had never been assigned to one, but he knew what a watchtower looked like, and this certainly was one. 

It looked to have three floors, four if the roof was included, which it should be, as it was likely accessible due to its design, gaps in the walls for eyes to peer through, for archers to nock and aim them down or out, but it was built up enough to protect the body, shield the observers from harm. It was cast in darkness for the first few minutes or so of Wonwoo directing curious scrutiny at it, only the embers of a dying sun tinting it a blood red until a flicker came from within. A candle. The hunter.

_That emblem_.

A black flame encircled with red hung under the window from which the soft glow spilled outdoors, and Wonwoo couldn’t help the scowl that overcame his features, didn’t try to hide his resentment either. This watchtower was one of the fire nation’s - whether it had been theirs to begin with or whether they besieged it, Wonwoo could not be certain. Putting his hatred momentarily aside, calming the leaves that were swirling around his ankles, Wonwoo noticed that the emblem was somewhat tattered, ripped with loose threads, and the more he raked his eyes around the watchtower, the more dilapidated he realised it to be.

Most of the stones of the cylindrical structure were in neat rows, stacked atop each other, but there were patches of irregularity, as though there had been a hole in the wall and someone had stuffed whatever rocks they could fit into the gaps to seal them up. The lower layers of stone had weeds creeping up along and through them, looking like they were growing from the inside of the watchtower and out. 

The fire nation were too prideful to let others lay eyes on something like this, something that tarnished their pristine reputation and gave room for mockery from others. Why would the hunter seek refuge _here_ of all places, unless they were certain that it was abandoned? Before Wonwoo could dwell on a different thought, a gentle tone was carried along the wind to him and him alone, “So, what happens now that you’ve followed me to my home?”

Wonwoo tucked himself back against the tree, wishing to become one with the bark and disappear into nature. They knew he was following them, for how long? His pulse rang loud in his ears, heart leapt to his throat, but no amount of silence would deter the voice of the hunter, and it came again, inviting, almost like the event of being followed was commonplace, “Well, don’t I at least get to know why you’re following me?”

How would he even answer that question? Truly, Wonwoo himself wasn’t entirely sure what compelled him to follow the hunter for _this_ long, _this_ far into the forest. He had figured that they would show him to other sources of food, maybe a water supply, or, as they had done, lead him to shelter for the night, but he hadn’t expected that shelter to take the form of the fire nation’s watchtower.

“I know you’re there, just come out.”

For all Wonwoo knew, they could have an arrow nocked and ready to fire at him the moment he peered around the tree, so he wasn’t being overly cautious when he asked, “How do I know that you’re not going to harm me?”

An incredulous sort of laugh came from behind Wonwoo, in the watchtower, a sound between a scoff and a snort, “Says the one stalking me home. How do _I_ know that _you’re_ not going to harm _me_?”

“I had plenty of chances along the way.”

“And yet here I am, so why were you following me if not to kill me?”

Wonwoo released a heavy exhale. He could just run forwards, into the endless embrace of the mountainous forest, and yet he didn’t, partially because the hunter knew this terrain and would easily be able to trace his steps if they desired, and partially because of his desire to _rest_. If this was truly a misunderstanding on both sides, as it certainly was on the hunter’s part, Wonwoo didn’t want to hurt him, then this was an ideal place to spend the night.

With the breeze whispering against his skin and brushing through his hair, Wonwoo stepped out from behind the thick tree trunk with his hands raised in easy surrender, pacing forwards into the clearing. The hunter was a man, Wonwoo could see that now, and a very attractive one at that. Three stories up and yet Wonwoo couldn’t deny the beautiful structure of his features, how delicately he was back-lit by the candles while the sun died somewhere off to the side. He was leaning on the window ledge, chin propped up on one hand, and raised a brow down at Wonwoo in mirrored scrutiny, curiosity that turned into something else that Wonwoo could not name, but looked akin to awe, then confusion, dismissal.

There was one glaring thing about this visual of the hunter that made Wonwoo’s stomach churn, and it was the fire nation’s emblem hanging directly underneath him, stagnant even in the sharp whip of the breeze. Wonwoo had his arms raised, his tattoos were probably visible to the hunter, so there was no point in trying to hide his obvious distaste when he asked with a cock of the head, “This watchtower belongs to the fire nation, does it not?”

“No, it doesn’t,” he sounded sort of breathless, and if Wonwoo could see him better, if he was closer, he might see his pupils to be blown out, “Not anymore.”

“What about you?”

That was the real question, the one that’s answer would either see Wonwoo welcomed into shelter or running for his life through the forest. He was ready to turn and sprint at the words falling from the hunter’s lips, but then they’d be in danger. What if he went to get reinforcements? It was better that the fire nation thought they were all dead, but if he ran, then this hunter would know. Maybe he hadn’t seen the tattoos, perhaps the night was shielding him from danger, eager to protect one of the wind’s last children; it was impossible to tell.

“What _about_ me?”

The hesitation to answer set Wonwoo more on edge, it was rather obvious what he had asked, “Do _you_ belong to the fire nation?”

  
  


“No.”

There was no hesitation that time and Wonwoo held him in a steely eye contact before deflating and lowering his surrendering arms, holding them behind his back for the off chance that his tattoos hadn’t been perceived. There were some hunters, hikers, and nomads who passed through their settlement with nothing but well wishes on their lips, and Wonwoo could only presume that either _this_ hunter hadn’t seen his tattoos, or he was one of _those_ hunters, one who already knew that the air nation hadn’t been entirely eradicated, “I was following you for shelter, I thought you might lead me to a cave or a burrow.”

“A burrow would not fit you in it,” the hunter said, slightly amused, and stood up from his lean, “Wait there.”

Wonwoo didn’t really have much else to do, but complied anyway, rooted to the spot. He could hear the hunter walking down the set of creaking stairs to approach the wooden door and he inched closer to it when the latches were undone from the inside, brought face to face with the person he had tailed all the way to sunet. The hunter was beautiful, irrefutably so, hair as dark as night scooped up into a high ponytail, secured with a red ribbon. It looked soft.

“I’ll ask again,” the hunter gave him a once-over too, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he liked what he saw as he drew his eyes back up to meet Wonwoo’s, “How do I know that you’re not going to smother me in my sleep?”

“I just want a place to rest for the night and then I’ll go back, I swear.”

“And I should take your word for it, why?” 

Wonwoo licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. The hunter didn’t seem to harbour any actual fear of him, and was rather testing him, determining his character and deeming his worth, and Wonwoo could really not discredit him for that, “Like I said, I followed you all the way here, so if I had wanted to hurt you, I could’ve done it already.”

The hunter hummed, leaning onto the doorframe with a pensive countenance before cracking a smile at the insistent grumble of Wonwoo’s stomach, “Come in, lock the door.”

Wonwoo thanked him for his gratitude and did as told, sliding all the bolts into place and realising that there was an excessive amount of them. It was a little hard to achieve in the dark, but Wonwoo managed to secure their safety and turned to search for the hunter in the lowlight, startling when a gentle grip took his hand, “Wouldn’t want you to trip up the stairs.”

How had he not heard the hunter’s breathing? Wonwoo couldn’t think, and suddenly missed the breeze of the outdoors, feeling oddly like he’d just waltzed straight into an inferno. He didn’t manage a more pronounced response, but he did make a noise of acknowledgement as he was led along to the creaking stairs.

“Sorry for the hostility,” the hunter began, ascending ahead of Wonwoo, “I don’t get a lot of visitors through here, as you can imagine, and I’m worried that the old occupants will show up and kick me out.”

There was something too easily lighthearted about the way he said it, the breathy laugh at the end, perhaps, that had Wonwoo believe there was more to it, but at least the nonchalance affirmed something to him - the hunter was not a threat if they both feared the fire nation.

“Don’t worry about it, really. If anything, I should be apologising for following you home.”

The hunter made a noise of disagreement, “It’s fine. Wanting to find shelter is understandable.”

“I could’ve just asked.”

“And you could’ve been killed if you did,” the hunter led them across the wooden panels of the second floor to the rest of the staircase and then they continued their ascent, “You’re cautious, clearly smart, and I don’t think you’d make a good liar, so I believe you about not wanting to harm me.”

Wonwoo raised a brow at the insult blanketed with compliments, “Thank you?”

“Anytime. What’s your name?”

He could always use a fake name, after all, he would only be in the company of this man for twelve or so hours at most, so there was really no need for him to say, “Wonwoo.”

“Jeonghan,” the hunter smiled back at him over his shoulder, still leading him up the stairs by a searing grip to the hand, and Wonwoo marveled at how the soft hues leaking down the staircase from the third floor painted him the colour of starlight. It almost distracted him from the fact that Jeonghan had omitted his last name, but Wonwoo was powerless to pry, as it could only end up in the question being deflected back at him.

“You like apples?” Jeonghan asked, letting go of Wonwoo’s hand when they arrived at the third floor, but the warmth from the hold lingered around his knuckles like a phantom embrace, making his skin prickle.

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Wonwoo responded honestly, not a picky eater, not since recent times, “Thank you.”

The third floor was clearly where Jeonghan lived and spent the majority of his time, that much was evident merely by the bed positioned adjacent to the window that Wonwoo had first glanced upon him at. The sheets were crumpled and looked scratchy, but Wonwoo had seen worse, currently lived in similar. A large chest of drawers was opposite the bed, enough space between them for your average dining table if Jeonghan wanted to put one there, which he hadn’t. The drawers were neatly closed, glaring at him in valiant oak, and he turned away from the offending furniture the moment he noticed the fire nation’s emblem branded into its side.

Aside from that, there was a small table in the room next to the bed, a basket full of a random assortment of items, and garments strewn about the place. As composed as Jeonghan may have appeared, with a loose, off-white cotton shirt tucked into high waisted briefs, which were, in turn, tucked into black knee-high boots, his mental state appeared to be somewhat frazzled if his bedroom was anything to go by. That, or he was just a messy person.

Wonwoo hadn’t moved from his point of scrutiny at the top of the staircase when Jeonghan turned back to look at him, apple in hand, only for that apple to drop and roll across the floor, accompanied by a gasp and the candles dancing. Jeonghan was staring at him starstruck, as though the god he had been worshipping his whole life just graced him with his presence, and Wonwoo could only furrow his brows in confusion, if not a little worry, “What?”

“I thought I was just seeing things in the dark,” Jeonghan began, taking small steps back through the candlelight, back towards Wonwoo, “And it’s been a long day, and I haven’t seen another person in the longest time…”

He was rambling, clearly, making Wonwoo nervous. He belatedly realised that, in his natural action to reach for the apple when Jeonghan had turned around with it, he had revealed his tattoos to him, truly this time, no doubt about it. That was the only possible explanation for the wonder with which Jeonghan gazed at him, and Wonwoo retained his silence, waiting for Jeonghan to continue, which he did.

“You’re an airbender.”

It was a fact, a statement of pure disbelief, and Wonwoo recalled the last time he had been in this situation before, the only other time, in fact. Another hunter had ended up passing through their settlement after getting lost and happily went on his way after they helped him get his bearings, but Wonwoo had been the one to find him wandering the fields, and he had been entirely unable to fathom the fact that there was a live airbender in front of him; his face when he saw the fifty or so of them at the settlement was a sight that Wonwoo would not soon forget.

This was entirely different, however. Jeonghan looked at him with enamour, gaze trailing from the backs of Wonwoo’s hands, where the blue arrows ended, up and along his arms to where they disappeared behind his biceps, where Jeonghan then locked them in a heated bout of eye contact as he awaited a response.

“I am,” Wonwoo affirmed simply, with a slight nod and hints of a smile.

“I thought…”

He trailed off. Wonwoo appreciated it. Knowing that most of his people had been wiped out was more than enough, witnessing the final stages of it had been too much, so he really didn’t need to hear about it again, “Yeah...We’re keeping it that way. A few of us survived, though.”

“There’s more of you?”

Jeonghan’s tone sounded _hopeful_ , which was odd, to say the least, “Yeah, there are.”

Wonwoo would never reveal more than necessary and kept the actual number to himself, but Jeonghan either didn’t notice the redaction or just didn’t press the matter, smiling small, more to himself than to Wonwoo, “That’s good. That’s...really nice to hear.”

Wonwoo raised a brow at him, “You’re not from the air nation, are you?”

“No, no,” Jeonghan waved away the notion, “I’m not, but I think what happened to you is horrible, and I’m just really glad to hear that I thought wrong and that you’re not all gone.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo knew his tone was a little clipped, but it wasn’t particularly something he liked to talk about, “Me too.”

Jeonghan snapped himself out of his daze to scoop the apple up from the floor with a sheepish smile, “I’ll uh, wash this for you. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jeonghan dashed back down the stairs before Wonwoo could protest, seeming to take all the warmth from the room with him. Left to his own devices, Wonwoo padded deeper into the circular room, bare feet impervious to the hardwood floors, calluses preventing splinters. There were no chairs in the room but his legs longed for a rest, and with the invitation to treat this as his own home, Wonwoo took a seat on the worn down mattress with a relieved exhale.

Jeonghan reappeared not a moment later, gently tossing the apple to Wonwoo who caught it with a quick word of gratitude. Then, Jeonghan took a seated lean against the table next to the bed, next to Wonwoo, and continued to stare at him as though discerning his existence, transfixed on the blue tattoos that wound around his arms. Wonwoo felt hot, not cooled by the chill of night as he usually was, and he chose to blame it on the army of candles that Jeonghan had burning around the edges of the room, as well the stare that bore holes into his flesh.

“Your feet,” Jeonghan stated, somehow expecting Wonwoo to know why he mentioned the extremities, continuing when he got only confused blinking in response, “They’re dirty.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, just a tad, “If you’re worried about your floors, you should take your boots off before asking me to wash my feet.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Jeonghan said easily, pushing himself out of his lean only to head back down the stairs again, out of sight.

Eating his apple in silence, Wonwoo grew a little worried that he had offended Jeonghan in some way, having only meant his comment as a bit of snark, a way to build a more comfortable atmosphere between strangers. Strangers. The word didn’t sit right in Wonwoo’s mouth, too heavy on his tongue, and he didn’t know whether that thought brought him comfort or dread. Jeonghan _was_ a stranger, Wonwoo didn’t know a thing about him aside from his name, so why did the term irk him?

He set his apple core down on the table a few moments before Jeonghan appeared again, carrying with him a pail of water and a rag. Wonwoo could see steam rising from the pail as Jeonghan approached him, knelt down in front of him, and dipped the rag into the water, “May I?”

Just because his intentions were obvious, it did not mean that Wonwoo was ready to compute what was happening, “What?”

“Wash the soil off your soles.”

“Oh,” Wonwo voiced, like he hadn’t known that from the beginning, gently raising a foot to Jeonghan’s waiting hands, “Sure?”

Silence surrounded them as Jeonghan saw to his self-established task. It did feel nice, Wonwoo had to admit, to have hot water dripped on to his aching feet after a whole day of walking, but he was ticklish, a thing he had forgotten to mention. He did his best to not flinch away from Jeonghan’s hold, curling his toes in instead, yet Jeonghan noticed anyway, dragging the rag devilishly slower just to see him squirm in place, too affected to stay still but too polite to rebuke Jeonghan for it, and Jeonghan _knew_ that.

It didn’t take long to wipe the cracked soil from his soles and ankles, so when the rag was absentmindedly trailed across the top of his foot in repeated motions, Wonwoo had to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Your tattoos,” Jeonghan gestured to the arrow on his foot, the thing he was currently wiping over, before setting the rag into the pail and peering up into Wonwoo’s eyes from where he knelt on the floor, “Did they hurt?”

“No,” Wonwoo held his hand out in front of himself, looking at the arrow on the back of it fondly, “Maybe a little in some places, but not as much as you’d think, not a pain you remember.”

“They’re beautiful,” Jeonghan declared, and Wonwoo could’ve sworn the room grew brighter for a second, but maybe that was just his eyes widening at the sudden compliment.

“Thank you.”

In the silence that followed and the quirk of Jeonghan’s lips, Wonwoo became hyper aware of how vastly _alone_ they were in the watchtower, how the walls seemed to have contracted to leave the room feeling half the size, and how hot he suddenly felt despite the draught circulating around the third story.

Jeonghan stayed kneeling on the floor, staring up at Wonwoo with such an awed reverence that he felt his skin start to prickle again at the attention, but he was incapable of saying anything to break the silence. Side-lit by the candles on the janky table, Wonwoo could now see that Jeonghan’s left cheek harbored a thin, glassy scar, too close to his eye for comfort, and felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and run his fingers over the marred flesh.

He didn’t, but Jeonghan appeared to notice the way his eyes were not boring into his own, and had rather trailed lower down his face, and he made room for conversation in the suffocating silence, “It’s an old scar.”

Wonwoo gave a slight nod, swallowing thickly while he searched for the right response, “What happened?”

“Just a scuffle with the dungeon guard, nothing to worry about.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline, “Dungeon?”

“The fire nation didn’t take too kindly to me setting fire to their provisions,” Jeonghan shrugged, casting a thoughtful expression about the room, glimmer in his eyes, “I escaped.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo felt his heart beat against his ribcage, wanting to jump out of his chest to curl up in Jeonghan’s palm at the revelation, “Why...did you do that?”

“Escape or sabotage them?” Jeonghan asked, looking back up at Wonwoo with a cheeky grin. He was just being pedantic for the sake of it.

“Sabotage them,” Wonwoo easily specified, aware that he was a little slack jawed and entirely unable to care.

“I didn’t agree with what they were doing,” Jeonghan punctuated his statement with a huff as he rose to his feet, moving the pail to the top of the stairs before half toeing and half yanking his boots off to set them down beside it. When he turned back to Wonwoo, he appeared to jolt, stunned once again by the visage of an airbender sat in his room, on his bed, and Wonwoo was torn between blushing under the gaze and inquiring further - in reality, only one of those was optional.

“Why?” Wonwoo felt the word slip past his lips before he had the opportunity to string together something more detailed, something more telling, stripping himself of the ability to steer the conversation. What business did Jeonghan have interfering in the war if he was not on either of the warring sides? Wonwoo appreciated his pity, the help he had attempted to provide, but the sweltering temperature of the watchtower would not deter his natural suspicion, not even with Jeonghan prowling closer, a hunter stalking his prey.

“I saw the opportunity and I took it,” Jeonghan stated simply, more calculated than Wonwoo, harder to sway, well-founded in his responses, and yet Wonwoo had managed to render him speechless with his mere existence only moments ago. 

Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, hadn’t been a such a loss for words in a long time, and sat, with his lips slightly parted, in the heat that surrounded him. Jeonghan was aware of his nature now, eyes still lingering on the blue inked into Wonwoo’s flesh, so Wonwoo saw no harm in making the breeze from outside circulate into and around the room, a cold kiss from nature.

The candles flickered at the gentle assault but Wonwoo was careful not to blow them out, not desiring to be cast into a total darkness, and he watched Jeonghan twirl about on the spot, following the invisible gust by the dance of the flames. Wonwoo smiled, almost endeared by the way Jeonghan gaped at the baseline feat, and let the wind whistle through Jeonghan’s hair, black strands waving about behind him, ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

Wonwoo couldn’t sustain it for long, far too fatigued from his day’s hike, and hunt, and heat crept back into the room as all went still, making him immediately miss the cool feeling. Jeonghan’s eyes darted back to him when the wind settled, more reverent than ever, like he’d move this whole mountain if Wonwoo asked him to, and yet despite the fire burning in his eyes, his voice came out soft, gentle, curious, “What else can you do?”

“It would be much easier for me to show you, otherwise it sounds far less impressive,” Wonwoo laughed a little at himself, feeling his eyes crinkle with amusement, “But I don’t have the strength now.”

Worry immediately presented itself on Jeonghan’s features and he dashed the remaining few steps to Wonwoo’s side, dropping to sit on the bed next to him, closer to the foot than the headboard, “Why not? Are you injured?”

“Oh, no. I am just tired. I walked for...”

Wonwoo cut himself short. He was revealing too much information. Something about Jeonghan’s gaze told him that Jeonghan knew his reason for terminating his sentence but said nothing of it. 

“You walked a lot,” Jeonghan concluded for him, eyes kind, or dark, Wonwoo could not discern the two, but it was not long before those eyes were wandering again, down Wonwoo’s arms to his hands, back up, and back down, mapping out arrows of blue.

“I walked a lot,” Wonwoo echoed, unable to supply something more intelligent under the weight of the attention. He became somewhat self-conscious, folding his arms into his chest, and only that action seemed to make Jeonghan realise what he was doing.

“Sorry,” he uttered lowly, room dim, “I just...can’t believe you’re here.”

Wonwoo gave a little laugh of sorts, flattered in disbelief, mischief lacing his words, “Sounds like you were expecting me.”

“I never could’ve expected you.”

That was an obvious statement on Jeonghan’s behalf, he thought the air nation had been entirely decimated, he would never think to see an airbender, never mind invite one into his home, so why did Wonwoo feel the words as a rasp on his heart, a call to answer? Wonwoo leaned away a fraction when Jeonghan peered closer, each regarding the other with cautious intrigue, moonlight cutting sharp against Jeonghan’s scar.

Squinting a little, Jeonghan reached a hand out before letting it hover in the space between them. His eyes wavered between Wonwoo’s own and something slightly _higher_ , and it dawned on Wonwoo as he blinked, silver strands dancing atop his eyelashes. Jeonghan’s fingers brushed Wonwoo’s bangs aside ever so gently to reveal the arrow on his forehead, the one that pointed to his nose and extended back through his hairline. That hand then slipped down to tuck Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear and Wonwoo felt as though the air was betraying him, leaving him to feel lightheaded.

“You’re _divine_ ,” Jeonghan declared in the minimal space left between them, causing Wonwoo’s heart to whimper in his chest, hair to flutter in a breeze that seemingly had no origin. Wonwoo was the one to close the gap, taking Jeonghan’s face in his hands and surging forward, connecting their lips while maneuvering himself to an easy perch straddling Jeonghan’s lap.

Warm hands immediately shot to hold his hips and pull him closer, and Wonwoo hummed at the contact, the sound lost between their lips. It had been far too long since he had been with anyone like this, a fact that was painfully obvious to both of them, but when Wonwoo pulled back to stare down at Jeonghan, he saw no amusement at his haste, only dark anticipation, lined with wonder, hooded.

Their lips met again in the sliver of moonlight, Jeonghan’s hands sneaking into the sides of Wonwoo’s tunic to rake blazing streaks up from his hips to his shoulder blades, and back down, seeing to it that Wonwoo arched away from the shivers that lingered. Wonwoo’s own hands slipped from cradling Jeonghan’s face to nestle into neatly collected raven strands, tugging lightly, close to the scalp, and drawing out a pleased noise that sounded from low in Jeonghan’s throat.

Wonwoo did it again, this time pulling harder, forcing Jeonghan to tip his head back and bare his throat for Wonwoo to feast upon the flesh like a starved man. He kissed, nipped and sucked a pink trail up the slender column, ending at the point where jaw curves to cheek, Jeonghan’s hands still at his hips, nails pressing crescent moons into his skin. A sudden lack of resistance made Wonwoo’s hand slip away from Jeonghan’s scalp, and he pulled back, taking his hand with him to look at it in slight despair, to see the red strip of silk dangling over his fingers, “Sorry.”

Jeonghan’s silence drew Wonwoo’s eyes up to his, heavy breaths mingling in the space between them as Wonwoo was met with the sight of Jeonghan with his hair fanning out, and Wonwoo really couldn’t help himself, couldn’t ignore the kink that ran around Jeonghan’s head in a halo of black, and just _had_ to run his fingers through the strands, separate them out between his fingers in gentle shaking motions. It was barely a second later when Wonwoo pulled back, red ribbon in an outstretched hand betwixt them, offering it and skillfully avoiding Jeonghan’s burning stare, instead watching a candle dance despite the absence of a breeze.

His hand was taken in a gently captive grip, his fingers curled around the silk to close his fist, and his breath hitched when he turned to bear witness to Jeonghan pressing a kiss to the backs of his knuckles. Lips lingered there for one hot breath before journeying up Wonwoo’s arm, following the blue streak until it disappeared behind his bicep, kisses then placed along his deltoids and up to the crook of his neck, where he finally managed to exhale a shuddering breath, the culmination of staccato inhalations. 

“It’s okay,” Jeonghan mumbled into the skin there, lips travelling higher, hand coming up to tuck Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear so that coy teeth could nibble at it, whispers could rasp against it, and Wonwoo had entirely forgotten _what_ precisely was okay, until Jeonghan continued, “I was going to take it out anyway.”

The red ribbon burned where Wonwooo kept it enclosed in a dormant hand, arms winding around Jeonghan’s shoulders, fingers tangling into the now loose strands at Jeonghan’s nape, drawing him up for another kiss, fire thrumming through his veins. Gentle nails raked up his back again, making him arch into Jeonghan, following through with the motion to push Jeonghan to lie on his back on the worn mattress, legs still dangling over the edge, bent at the knees.

Wonwoo’s hands slipped over Jeonghan’s shoulders to wander down his chest, searching for restrictive buttons, gripping into the white material when Jeonghan gave the flesh at his ass a squeeze, hiking him slightly further up in his straddle. His lips were now hovering over Jeonghan’s nose, Jeonghan taking the opportunity to crane up and kiss at Wonwoo’s jaw while Wonwoo made quick, blind work of the buttons. 

Equally deft hands were untying the belt that cinched his tunic together at the waist, and after that, all Jeonghan had to do was pull the single square of fabric to the side to leave Wonwoo naked in the heat of the watchtower, and that’s exactly what he did, Wonwoo sitting back on his haunches over Jeonghan’s lap while he fought with the last few buttons, near his navel.

“You’re beautiful,” Jeonghan exhaled from under hooded eyes, eyes raking along the bare skin, following the twist of the arrows from the backs of Wonwoo’s hands until he couldn’t see them anymore. 

Wonwoo thought him a liar, currently presented with what _he_ deemed to be one of the more beautiful sights that he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. Jeonghan flat on his back, softly rising chest peeking out from between the creased curtains of his shirt, black hair sprawled out under him, red ribbon poking out from under it where Wonwoo had left it when it slipped through his fingers.

Buttons undone, shirt untucked, Wonwoo ignored the palms burning into his thighs, ignored the way they travelled pleasantly up his back as he slinked back up Jeonghan’s form, planting kisses from his sternum upwards, leaving a tender trail that ended at the glassy scar under Jeonghan’s left eye, candles flickering with the hitch in Jeonghan’s breath. 

The moon was leaving them now, the last rays of grey being overruled by a glowing heat as Jeonghan pulled Wonwoo closer for another kiss, one that didn’t last too long as Wonwoo journeyed back down Jeonghan’s torso, nipping at the skin. He shuffled off the bed, Jeonghan sitting up with the movement, and was about to kneel on the floor before a guiding hand tilted his chin up where he crouched, “Don’t. The floor is dirty.”

Wonwoo gave a wordless nod, lips parted with heavy breaths, and rose to his feet with Jeonghan before being gently ushered to take a seat on the bed again, empty head taking a moment to process the position change until Jeonghan reached to undo the fastening at his own navel, which was now almost at Wonwoo’s eye level, “Oh.”

Jeonghan was smiling down at him when he looked up, a lazy quirk of the lips, and Wonwoo pulled him closer by the backs of his thighs, leaning his cheek against a pointed hip bone, pressing a kiss low on his stomach that made Jeonghan’s abdomen tense deliciously. Wonwoo helped him slide the slacks down until they fell to the dirty floor, kicked off to the side somewhere, forgotten.

A hand slipped into his hair with a low utterance, tugging at the crown, at the top half of Wonwoo’s hair which was half up, a thin braid down the centre at the back, lying over the rest, bangs hanging into his eyes, how he usually had it. He held Jeonghan at the base, lips puckered around the head, tongue swirling around the tip, and enjoyed the feeling of nails scratching against his scalp.

Wonwoo didn’t need to hear any words of praise from Jeonghan to spur him on, the soft pants that fell from his lips were enough, joined by the occasional wet hiss, followed by a hard swallow. Jeonghan stayed still, let Wonwoo go at his own pace, let Wonwoo choose how much of the length to take or when to relent and cast a glance upwards, tongue running along the shaft.

It wasn’t long before Wonwoo settled against the scratchy sheets, head on flat pillows, with Jeonghan hovering over him, each side of his unbuttoned shirt hanging down to tickle against Wonwoo’s sides. They kissed again, heat pooling in Wonwoo’s stomach, toes curling when Jeonghan wrapped a hand around his neglected cock but would not relinquish his lips, devouring the moan that rose from within Wonwoo’s throat. 

The relief was gone almost as soon as it came, Jeonghan receding down Wonwoo’s body, peppering him with kisses that made his breath stutter. Wonwoo’s hands were taken in Jeonghan’s own as Jeonghan sat to a straddle over Wonwoo’s lap, bringing the knuckles to his lips to kiss them again, once for each set. Fingers were uncurled, the tip of an index disappearing into Jeonghan’s mouth, met by a warm tongue, and Wonwoo felt his dick jump at the sight. 

Jeonghan let one of Wonwoo’s hands go free before repeating his earlier ministration to the other, kissing over the bump at the wrist and along the forearm, covering more and more of Wonwoo with his body as he travelled up, this time not deterred from following the arrow all the way around. Wonwoo found himself with his arm overhead, bent at the elbow, so that Jeonghan could kiss the backs of his biceps, their linked hands pressed into the pillow. 

His lips were spared a kiss while his bangs were pushed back, and then lips met his forehead, right on the tip of the arrow, and Wonwoo shivered as Jeonghan’s whisper ghosted across the point, full of wonder, “Where does this one go?”

“Down my back,” Wonwoo managed after a harsh swallow, his free hand reaching up to slip under Jeonghan’s shirt at the waist, gently dragging fingers along his spine right up to the neck, not missing the way Jeonghan arched at the touch, “Like that.”

“Can I see?” Jeonghan asked, breath tickling the shell of Wonwoo’s ear this time, making him feel impossibly hotter, but he wordlessly complied nonetheless. 

Jeonghan sat back while Wonwoo rolled himself over, held in place by the arm before he could fully lie back down, guided so that he was kneeling with his back to Jeonghan. Gentle hands collected his hair at the nape before draping it over one shoulder, lips pressing close to the hairline, speaking the words into his skin, “Stay like that.”

Wonwoo didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, balling them into fists atop his thighs while Jeonghan made a warm canvas out of his neck, murmuring low appreciation into every bump of his spine, hands trailing up and down Wonwoo’s biceps to leave shivers in their wake. A warm glow painted Wonwoo from the candles on the bedside table, but he closed his eyes to it when Jeonghan wrapped a hand around his cock again, leaning his head back onto Jeonghan’s shoulder, back bowed.

“You really are beautiful,” Jeonghan purred against the shell of his ear before taking it between his teeth, rolling the cartilage in a way that made Wonwoo twitch with the slight pain. His jaws released the hold with a gasped moan when Wonwoo reached around behind himself to give Jeonghan the same attention, hand working along his length as best as he could manage. 

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Wonwoo exhaled, blinking his eyes open to the sight of a rotten ceiling, obscured by Jeonghan’s side profile, continuing at the confused noise that bubbled up Jeonghan’s throat, “You’re far more beautiful than I.”

“Debatable,” Jeonghan said, catching Wonwoo’s protest with a kiss and morphing it into a moan with the flick of his wrist, tossing it out of Wonwoo’s mind entirely, “How do you want to do this?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Wonwoo murmured under his breath, unable to put more weight into the words and trusting the wind to carry them the small distance to Jeonghan’s ears. 

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, and then the hands were gone from Wonwoo’s form, leaving him to whine at the loss and Jeonghan to chuckle as he slinked away, “Get on your elbows and knees for me.”

Wonwoo easily did as instructed, simply leaning forwards until his forearms met the scratchy sheets, and he peered back over his shoulder to see Jeonghan _finally_ shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, stood at the foot of the bed and fighting momentarily with the cufflinks; Wonwoo huffed a laugh through his nose.

The bed creaked in complaint when Jeonghan kneeled back on it and Wonwoo turned his attention forwards again, lying his cheek across his forearms, jolting slightly when Jeonghan’s hands gripped at his hips to aid him, “Ass up.”

Heat burned across Wonwoo’s cheeks but he wiggled his knees around nonetheless, arching his back to allow Jeonghan access. Whatever he was expecting to happen, it was not for Jeonghan to kiss up the backs of his thigh, starting near the knee, traversing across his ass and then heading back down the other thigh, along the arrows, he realised, but that’s exactly what happened, causing Wonwoo’s back to go ramrod straight, muscles tense at the fleeting feeling.

“Relax,” Jeonghan coaxed, hands smoothing over the flesh instead, slow drags of the fingertips making Wonwoo’s spine stutter in place as he sought to rock away, forwards, towards the headboard and away from Jeonghan, but was gently pulled back to be met with a wetness that make him gasp, “ _Relax_.”

It was a hard task when Jeonghan’s tongue inched into him, flitting around his entrance, to not be hyper aware of every muscle in the area, of how his asscheeks stiffened under Jeonghan’s palms, coaxed apart by pleasant, kneading circles. Wonwoo lifted himself up a little, letting his head hang from his shoulders over hands fisted in the sheets. Jeonghan took his sweet time, alternating between his tongue and finger, and his tongue and two fingers, and all three at once until Wonwoo’s thighs were quivering and his breathing consisted of laboured pleas. 

Jeonghan slicked himself up with saliva, Wonwoo heard him spit, heard the quiet sounds that he made as he touched himself, and wriggled his ass impatiently, whine low in his throat, “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg me,” Jeonghan spoke softly, sentence broken in two by both of them groaning around the stretch, “I’d do anything you asked.”

Wonwoo wasn’t currently sane enough to delve into what that meant, or to care to do so, drool slipping out the corner of his mouth to be wiped by the back of his hand, “Then fuck me.”

Jeonghan complied, dreadfully slowly at first, leaning over Wonwoo to kiss along his spine, hands hot at his hips and breath fanning over his neck, moans spilled into his ears. Wonwoo dropped his chest back down to the sheets, tilting his tailbone more, gasping at the new angle and preening at the feeling of Jeonghan’s nails raking down his back. At Wonwoo’s instruction, Jeonghan began to thrust faster, and Wonwoo could’ve sworn the room grew brighter even after he buried his face into the pillow, muffling his own moans. 

He came to be rolled over, legs spread to accommodate Jeonghan lying between them, and took Jeonghan’s face between his hands to kiss him as the old bed frame creaked in protest. He let the wind kiss them again, transfixed on Jeonghan’s awe as his hair fluttered about behind himself, lost in the glimmer of those dark eyes. With the candles dancing, Wonwoo was taken to the edge and back again, hands making perches out of Jeonghan’s shoulders, nails digging into the flesh before slipping to tug at black strands and draw _delicious_ sounds from deep within Jeonghan’s throat. 

Bodies wrought and breath spent, they each used their last pools of energy to finish each other off, not that it took that much effort anyway. Jeonghan tried to bury his face into the crook of Wonwoo’s neck when he came with a cry, but Wonwoo pulled his head back by the hair, strangling the moan as it left Jeonghan’s lips, and then Wonwoo came a moment later, a tear slipping out the corner of his eye as his back arched up and up, seemingly to never come back down.

Wonwoo released his hold on Jeonghan’s locks and Jeonghan dropped his forehead onto Wonwoo’s shoulder, pressing a kiss there while they both panted into the night, desperate for breath. Jeonghan pulled out and moved to the side, sprawling on the sheets stomach first, and Wonwoo grimaced at the loss of girty, and the loss of warmth, despite the sheen of sweat plastered to every inch of his skin.

He turned to look at Jeonghan, met with the expanse of his back illuminated in orange, littered with a crisscross of scars that stole his breath away again, “Your back.”

Jeonghan raised a brow at him when their eyes met, clearly still seeing stars and taking a moment to formulate a response, “My back?”

“Scars,” Wonwoo rolled onto his side and reached out to lazily run a hand along the marred skin, Jeonghan bristling at the affection.

“From being in the dungeon.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything to that, just lay there with his lips parted as his fingers drew aimless shapes over the harsh lines, thinking that maybe he’d lean over to kiss them if he wasn’t already aching all over, fighting the urge to fall asleep. Jeonghan beat him to it, lulled to a slumber by Wonwoo’s idle gesture, and Wonwoo was quick to follow, giving in to the exhaustion hacking away at his very bones.

The wind stirred outside the watchtower, unable to seep through the cracked stone.

━ᕕ━

When Wonwoo awoke, the bed was cold and the candles were out, no semblance of ever having been lit aside from the wax pooled at their bases. He stretched in the morning sun, exhaling a relieved groan at some tension leaking from his muscles, and then sat up to survey his surroundings. 

The watchtower looked even more decrepit in the daylight, dust swirling about in the rays streaming through the window and dark splotches visible in the wooden panels of the roof, but other than that, there wasn’t much else to note. Wonwoo spotted his own tunic and belt strewn across the floor beside the bed and dressed himself with ease, snapping a crick out of his neck as he went, and noticing that Jeonghan’s boots still remained where they’d been chucked under the window, so he can’t have gone too far. 

After running gentle fingers through his hair and redoing his usual braid, Wonwoo thought that Jeonghan would’ve returned from wherever he’d gone, but was mistaken, and he stood with a huff, walked with a groan, and headed across the circular room in search of the one he’d once called hunter.

His journey was cut short rather swiftly as he hissed a profanity through his teeth, bending down to pat at his injured toes for a few seconds of throbbing pain before glaring daggers at the offending chest of drawers, really a sight for sore eyes. His affliction, aside from his own bleary eyes, was the lower drawer left slightly open, a sliver of clothing hanging from its depths, and Wonwoo crouched down to stuff it back in to no avail, sighing and yanking the janky thing open to do a proper job, lest he should walk into it again on his way back.

Only, after opening it, he just stared, unmoving, blinking harshly at what lay inside. He reached to rub at his eyes, tap himself on the cheeks a few times to try and wake up from whatever nightmare this was, but nothing worked, and the fabric continued to frown at him. Pitch blacks and lined reds, neatly folded, not creased, stapled with the emblem of the fire nation.

Makes sense, Wonwoo thought, considering that this watchtower used to belong to the fire nation, but then he looked away from the blindingly pristine robes to the other garments in the drawer, noticing that they could be described as rags at best, and were not nearly as well kept. Standing out of his crouch and into a lean, the neat uniform gripped in hand, Wonwoo opened the next drawer up, and the next, and the top one, and found nothing else that had been so well preserved by time, so untouched by dust and mites, and there could only be one reason for that. 

“Oh, you’re up.”

Jeonghan’s voice cut through the air so casually that it made Wonwoo feel _sick_ , knuckles white where his grip pressed creases into the uniform, turning to see Jeonghan stood at the top of the stairs looking just as beautiful as he had done last night, black slacks on, and the same white button-up, unbuttoned, not tucked in, and nothing else, but this time he looked paler. 

They each looked at the bundle of clothes in Wonwoo’s arms before becoming locked in eye contact, and when Jeonghan spoke, there was a fire in his eyes, “I can explain.”

“Is this yours?” Wonwoo’s voice came out meek, a quiet murmur that didn’t carry the command for an answer as he intended.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Jeonghan raised his hands, taking a cautious step forward that turned into three steps back when Wonwoo began to close the space himself.

Wood creaked around them, planks whining, cupboard straining, all fighting to resist the gust that sought to whisk them around the room in a hurricane, Wonwoo its eye, “ _Is this yours?_ ”

The sharp breeze assaulted Jeonghan but did not move him, just drew his hair to one side, blew his shirt behind him, revealing evidence of last night, of pink trails and purple splotches littering his skin, marks of a good loving that made Wonwoo’s skin crawl as he stood there, jaw tense, _waiting_.

“It is,” Jeonghan said, unheard above the whistle of the wind, but it was carried to Wonwoo as a whisper that he did not care to hear more of, and he lunged at Jeonghan, throwing the biggest gust of air he could muster, still fatigued but now shaking with anger, fearing for all those at the settlement who had barely survived.

Jeonghan stumbled with the impact, catching himself against the wall, and he dodged the next blow, sending Wonwoo away with his own momentum. Words were shouted to him but Wonwoo could only hear the rush of the wind, using it to propel himself to Jeonghan, to knock him over so they both fell to the floor in a wrestling roll, and Wonwoo only ceased his movement when Jeonghan came out on top, straddling him, a dagger pointed at his throat, imbued with a blaze that sprouted from Jeonghan’s hand.

“Stop it,” Jeonghan panted out, referring to the whirlwind of items around them that had already begun to clam into nothing, “Let me explain.”

Wonwoo struggled in place, sick to the stomach at the fiery grip around his wrist, other hand clutching at Jeonghan’s forearm, far too close to the flame. He was pressed down with more force, dagger coming closer, forcing him to tilt his head back while fire swam in his vision, and he almost whimpered at the heat, at the reminder of what he’d lost and what he’d lost it to, “Let go of me.”

“ _Please_ let me explain.”

Jeonghan looked so pained with desperation that it would be piteous if not for Wonwoo fearing for his own life, for the lives of all those at the settlement, mentally kicking himself for not _noticing_ sooner, “ _Let go of me._ ”

“Please just listen,” Jeonnghan’s tone was urgent and Wonwoo fought the desire to call the wind to his aid for threat of earning a clean slice along the throat or a room of fire, “It’s not what it looks like.”

Wonwoo scoffed, derisive, frozen in place while the uniform lay next to them, emblem embroidered into the innocent fabric, sweat beading from the heat of the blade, “I don’t know about that, it looks pretty obvious to me.”

“Wonwoo—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Wonwoo spat through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut for moment of respite, to keep tears in that tried to spill over, before opening them to Jeonghan’s concerned expression; anyone would think that he was the one at knifepoint.

“I—”

“I don’t want to hear _anything_ you have to say.”

“I left the fire nation!”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened at that, narrowing into slits before Jeonghan could continue, “Why would I believe that?”

“I didn’t lie to you once last night. My scars? From being imprisoned? They’re what I got from leaving. I don’t stand with them anymore.”

Knuckles white, Wonwoo had to ask, “Before or after the war?”

“During,” Jeonghan immediately answered, gaze flicking between Wonwoo’s eyes, boring deep in a plea, “I was there for the siege of the air temple. I thought that you deserved to be wiped out, thought that it was my duty to kill every last one of you to protect my nation—”

“ _Let go of me_.”

“—Because that's what I was taught since I was young! We’ve been preparing for this attack, this war, for years, and I was on the front lines. It wasn’t a war, it was a massacre.”

“I _know_ ,” Wonwoo growled, scathing, trying to lift his hand from the floor only for the grip around his wrist to tighten, trying to pry the dagger away from his throat only for the tip to kiss fire against his skin, “I was _there_.”

Jeonghan looked stunned at this knowledge and Wonwoo took advantage of the falter, twisting the hand that held the hilt to have Jeonghan roll in pain, to reverse their positions and wield Jeonghan’s blade against him, the emblem engraved into the hilt branding into Wonwoo’s hand, burning. The fire went out almost immediately, leaving cool steel, and Jeonghan spoke, winded and hasty, “I left as soon as I realised. Joined a resistance.”

Wonwoo did recall the conversation last night, remembered Jeonghan saying that this resistance had tried to help the air nation, but he did not relent, and a drop of blood trickled down Jeonghan’s throat to soak into raven strands, the first drop of blood Wonwoo had ever drawn from someone in his life, “And how many innocent people did you slaughter first?”

“None!” Jeonghan raised his hands in pointed surrender, “I was high up, a commander.”

“ _A commander.”_

“The general’s son!”

Wonwoo took a long, steadying breath, hating how loud it sounded, how it reminded him of being breathless, tangled in scratchy sheets and crying to the moon, _Jeonghan_ over him, under him, all around him with the dance of the candles, and he felt bile rise in his throat, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you handed back to the fire nation as a deserter.”

“Please just _listen._ I fled, joined the resistance and tried to fight back against the fire nation as soon as the war started, as soon as I realised that it wasn’t a war and that there was no cause for it. We sabotaged attacks and damaged supplies and were hunted down, imprisoned, tortured and killed. I escaped thanks to a friend, but that’s where those scars on my back are from,” Jeonghan reiterated, rambled, kiss-bitten lips running away with the words, “We didn’t know that we were fighting an unprovoked war, we grew up preparing for it and didn’t know any better.”

“What about the scar on your cheek?” Wonwoo found himself asking, unable to ignore the glassy patch under Jeonghan’s left eye.

“A gift from my father,” Jeonghan’s smile was wry and his movements cautiously slow when he moved a hand to trail a finger over the marred flesh, “For easy identification if I escaped before they could make me watch each and every last one of my friends suffer.”

He was not lying, Wonwoo decided, not lying about any of it, and that just made the dagger feel so much heavier where it painfully dug into his hand, point just poking into Jeonghan’s skin, a thin line of blood drying on his throat. It made everything so much harder and Wonwoo didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to kill a man who he had just spent a night of lust and wonder with - he didn’t quite want to believe that he had woken up, in all honesty.

But Jeonghan was there, lying under him, still, breaths heavy and quiet, eyes ablaze while Wonwoo’s heart danced about his ribcage, pulse ringing in his ears, so painfully awake and aware of every aching muscle in his body, of the heat rolling off Jeonghan in waves as it had done all night, and he _really_ should’ve been more careful.

“I thought you were all dead,” Jeonghan voiced quietly, pulling Wonwoo from his distraught riverie, “I thought that they’d won and that our resistance had been for nothing, that I’d lost friends and isolated myself from everything and everyone I’ve ever known for nothing.”

“But you tried,” Wonwoo said, searching for Jeonghan’s response.

“I tried,” Jeonghan gave the slightest nod, unable to move too much lest he wants his own dagger impaled through his throat, “And here you are, so it can’t have been for nothing.”

Wonwoo stared down at Jeonghan, face framed in the silver of Wonwoo’s hair that hung down, a stark contrast to the black mass sprawled out on dusted wood under Jeonghan’s head. Jeonghan could certainly resist, Wonwoo realised, now able to think more clearly, now the one in control of the situation, Jeonghan wasn’t recovering from a day’s hike in the sweltering heat, hadn’t been using his firebending abilities continuously for days on end, he could certainly beat Wonwoo back to the floorboards if he wanted to.

And yet he didn’t, he hadn’t shown a semblance of offense when Wonwoo had lunged at him, only weilding fire in an attempt to talk his way out of the violence, and Wonwoo couldn’t come to a clear conclusion on what that meant. Jeonghan had been so _gentle_ with him, so revered that it had made him blush under the attention, but now it started to make sense, why he kissed every inch of Wonwoo’s skin, whispered praise into every crevice and held him like he was an apparition waiting to disappear. Wonwoo was a symbol to Jeonghan, a symbol that he’d done the right thing, a living, breathing messiah that had waltzed right into his bed and let him have his way with him, inviting him to share in a joint existence for just one night.

“You tried,” Wonwoo muttered again, unable to formulate anything else, mind working fast but not actually _working_. Jeonghan just blinked up at him, patient, waiting, hands still raised in surrender, and Wonwoo was struck with an idea, one that the elders would likely rebuke him for, “Do you still want to stand against the fire nation?”

Jeonghan’s response came with no hesitation, just a glimmer of hope in his eyes, a flicker of light that made Wonwoo swallow harshly, “Of course.”

“Even if that means standing against old friends, or your family?”

“I made that decision a long time ago,” Jeonghan smiled wry, “If they are still in support of the war, then yes, I stand against them.”

“If I take you back to the settlement, you will likely be imprisoned,” Wonwoo explained lowly, not missing the surprised quirk of Jeonghan’s brow at the mention of the settlement, “Do you still want to stand against the fire nation?”

“If I remain here, I will waste away into nothing, having accomplished nothing worth accomplishing, or, you will kill me before you leave,” Jeonghan cast a glance down to where the dagger was still snug against his flesh, not that he could see it, “Regardless, I do.”

Wonwoo’s heart was hammering in his chest again, palm sweaty around the hilt. Taking Jeonghan back to the settlement was, in innumerable ways, a terrible idea, _if_ Jeonghan was lying, which Wonwoo truly didn’t believe him to be, and in that case, then Jeonghan could be very beneficial to their survival, a key piece of their counterstrike, or just a warm body to spend the night with.

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan called, watching the internal conflict, “I haven’t lied to you since we met.”

“When I’ve got a dagger to your throat would be a good time to start.”

“Would be a terrible time to start, you could kill me,” Jeonghan huffed out a little laugh and Wonwoo was amazed at how much tension leaked out of him from the sound, despite how strained it was, “But you wouldn’t.”

“If I take you back with me and you don’t cooperate with the elders, try to escape or cause anybody harm, or try to communicate with anyone from the outside,” Wonwoo paused, countless scenarios flashing through his mind, all of them ending in one of two ways, “I will _not_ hesitate to hand you back to the fire nation.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Jenoghan’s eyes narrowed, tone resolute and final.

Wonwoo’s eyes ran over Jeonghan’s features, looking for even the tiniest hint of a lie and finding nothing telling, just the pink patches on his neck trailing down to pointed collarbones. Their gazes locked again, Wonwoo asking for a final time, just to be certain, “Do you still want to stand against the fire nation, even at the risk of your own life?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan almost whispered, hand coming gently out of surrender to wrap slender digits around Wonwoo’s wrist, below the dagger, “And if that means I get to stand with you, then that’s even better.”

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to sexy taemin songs while writing this and i can only hope it shows
> 
> ALSO i wrote sexy high ponytail and red ribbon jeonghan like a whole month before knowing wwx, just so you know
> 
> comments and kudos are always much loved and forever treasured!! 
> 
> ☆ [hmu on twitter! @xiiaeo](https://twitter.com/xiiaeo) ☆
> 
> edit: this fic has been up for an hour and it somehow made it onto [an article about candles ](https://twitter.com/Candle_Addict/status/1247966753021460480)and i am losing my mind


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